A Slight Re-write to incorporate the current data regarding a certain knight.
Heavy: *Eating Pie* Omnomnomnom...
Spy: *Wiping lips with napkin* Piro, you have outdone yourself.
Piro: Mmhmmhmm...
Kyugan: Seriously, the pastry's so soft, how'd you get it so soft?
Piro: Mhmmmhmmhmm...
Kyugan: Family Recipe? I understand, My Granny's the same with her Apple Crumble...mmm, apple crumble...*homer gargle*
Piro: eugh...*scoots away from Kyugan*...merde that's disturbing...in any case, ze wheel of Fate is Turning, let us see what zis latest continuum shift has wrought, nes pas?
Chapter 5: The Deathday Party.
Needless to say, Herwald's show of skill, and convolutely Lockhart's lack of it, in the DADA classroom soon spread, as was wont amongst the student grapevine, which didn't exactly go a long way towards endearing the professor to the rest of the students, whilst cementing Herwald's position as someone not to be crossed.
However, it seemed Lockhart was either hard of hearing or simply lacked the survival skills of a clinically depressed lemming, as he seemed to make it his life's mission to stalk Herwald through the corridors, under the pretence of giving his fellow 'celebrity' advice. However, thanks in part to his friendship with the Weasley twins, Herwald knew the hidden passages of the castle better than most other students. Combined with the Potter Ring's gift of invisibility, and the Einzbern youth was able to literally run rings around the fop.
Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, the little Gryffindor having seemingly memorized Herwald's schedule, and nothing seemed to give the lion cub a bigger thrill than to suddenly ask "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a day, except perhaps how Herwald, no matter which direction he was facing, seemed to be able to detect the boy before he even opened his mouth, the Einzbern usually greeting the boy with an exasperated "Hello, Colin." which only made him smile wider.
And then there was the girl, that damnably worrisome, mousy-haired Fraulein that seemed to be the only other person that could see the demonic horses that pulled the Hogwarts Carriages. Every time Herwald thought he'd forgotten about her, there she was staring at him from over the rim of her magazine, which she was always reading upside down for whatever reason, or simply smiling airily at him as they passed one another in the corridor.
They never spoke, differences in houses aside, she was a First year, and it was generally accepted that there was to be little to no fraternizing outside one's own year, especially outside one's own house. However, that didn't stop her from making the adopted Einzbern feel self-conscious every time he averted his emerald eyes from her airy, yet somehow fathomless stare.
In short, Herwald was rather glad when the weekend rolled around, by the time the weekend rolled round, having decided to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning with Ron, Neville and Hermione. He was thinking of inviting Draco, Crabbe and Goyle along, but his fellow Slytherins had apparently been accepted onto the house Quidditch team, something about Draco's father making donations, Herwald wasn't entirely sure as he'd only half been paying attention, as Quidditch really wasn't his thing.
In either case, after making his excuses not to accompany the team to the pitch, as it was technically verboten for anyone but players to be there without Madam Hooch to supervise them, sabotage was part of the game after all, he made his way to the entrance hall, meeting up with his Gryffindor friends before making his way down the grounds towards Hagrid's hut. They were within twenty feet of the door when it swung open, Herwald letting out a curse and activating the Potter Ring scant seconds before Gilderoy Lockhart emerged, the fop's mauve robes flowing dramatically, or attempting to, as he strode out of the hut.
"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" he declared, smiling at Hagrid, who despite his amicable nature seemed rather eager to see the fop off his property "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got one."
'I'm not.' Herwald muttered, snorting in disdain as he watched the fop march off, pausing only to greet the Gryffindors, earning a heartfelt sigh from Hermione as he flounced off, the Einzbern waiting until he was well and truly out of sight before deactivating the Potter Ring's enchantment, popping right back into view and knocking on Hagrid's door, only to quirk a brow at the annoyed look on the half-giant's bearded face. Understandable really, considering whose company he'd just escaped from.
"Oh, Harry." Hagrid greeted, brightening at once when he saw who he was glaring at "Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me." He admitted, gesturing for them to enter "Come in, come in, thought you might'a bin Professor Lockhart back again…"
"Heaven forbid…" Herwald muttered, sharing a snort of amusement with his fellow males, while Hermione huffed disapprovingly, the four of them filing in, Hagrid shutting and BOLTING the front door, clearly not taking any chances where a certain work-shy fop was concerned, before bustling around to make the tea. "And how are you, Fang?" Herwald greeted, smiling as he knelt down to pet Hagrid's massive boarhound, the deceptively intimidating canine's tail wagging eagerly as the Einzbern's nimble hands found all the right places.
"So what did Professor Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Neville asked, looking on in wonderment as Herwald actually got Fang to roll onto his back like a puppy, unable to believe just how good with dogs his friend was.
"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well." Hagrid growled, the half-giant sweeping a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot with decidedly more force than was necessary "As if I didn' know myself. An' he kept bangin' on about some banshee he banished. I swear if one word of that tripe was true, I'll eat my kettle."
"Now, now Hagrid, no need to be so hasty." Herwald countered, earning looks of surprise from the males, and a grateful smile from Hermione "After all, why waste a perfectly good kettle?"
"I think you're being a bit unfair." Hermione countered over the sniggers of Ron and Neville and Hagrid's deafening guffaws, the girl's voice somewhat higher than usual Herwald was intrigued to note "Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job…"
"He was the on'y man for the job." Hagrid countered, the groundskeeper wiping tears of amusement from his black-beetle eyes as he offered the students a plate of treacle fudge "An' I mean theon'y one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see." He leaned forward conspiratorially "They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now."
Herwald said nothing, though he DID frown at the revelation. After all, curses were some of the oldest forms of magic around, the ancient Magi, before they'd called themselves such, had used them both to ward off ill omens and to summon them to destroy their enemies. It wasn't uncommon for someone to place a curse on a title or some other mantle of authority, in order to bring the possessor ruin.
It wouldn't be unfounded, therefore, for someone to place a curse on the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, indeed, it seemed deliciously ironic. Herwald would have probably done it himself if Lockhart managed to survive the year, that is if he ever managed to get his jaw unclenched, as he'd rather forgotten that when it came to cooking, Hagrid tended to forget not everyone's jaws were as powerful as his. His treacle fudge alone could've been used to hold bricks together.
"By the way Harry." The Half-giant spoke up abruptly, as though struck by a sudden thought, turning to face the Einzbern with a scowl "I gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"
Had Herwald's jaws not been effectively cemented shut by the groundskeeper's treacle fudge, he'd have cursed his friend, Lockhart, Dumbledore and the entirety of Hogwarts in every language he knew. As it were, he instead settled for glaring at the Half-giant, only to relent when the latter burst out laughing.
"I'm on'y jokin'." Hagrid assured the youth, patting Herwald genially on the back and sending him face first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin'."
"Not by choice I assure you." Herwald muttered, the blow having forced his teeth apart, the boy-who-lived idly wondering how Lockhart had reacted to Hagrid's jab and smiling as his imagination went to work "I take it he didn't take that well?"
"Don' think he did." Hagrid replied pleasantly, his black beetle eyes twinkling mischievously, as if savouring the memory "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go."
Hoh! That slaps me on the knee!
Herwald resolved to buy Hagrid another keg of Einzbern's finest mead for Christmas this year; it was worth it to imagine the look of impotent fury that must've crossed Lockhart's face. True, he didn't really put much stock by the whole 'Boy who lived' thing, in truth, he wisely suspected the Potters, or an unknown Third Party, had dealt the final blow to Voldemort eleven years ago. However, it was times like this when he acknowledged the unwanted fame had its uses.
"Come an' see what I've bin growin'." Hagrid asked once they'd finished their tea, leading the quartet out of the house towards the small vegetable patch at the back, where a dozen of the largest pumpkins Herwald had ever seen rested; each was the size of a large boulder. "Gettin' on well, aren't they?" Hagrid noted happily "Fer the Halloween feast…should be big enough by then."
"What in the world have you been feeding them?" Neville asked, the herbology expert of the group looking on in wonderment, missing the suddenly shifty look in Hagrid's eyes, though Herwald caught him glancing over his shoulder to where the half-giant's flowery pink umbrella was leaning against the back wall of the cabin.
Now Herwald had heard all the rumours, how Hagrid had been expelled in third year for bringing some dangerous beast into the castle, all too believable really, and as such had his wand snapped by the Minister of Magic, as was the custom. However, there was no way that the pumpkins had gotten that large without an engorgement charm, and judging by the shifty look on Hagrid's face as he glanced at the umbrella, the half-giant had probably concealed his old school wand inside it.
"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" Hermione noted, halfway between disapproval and amusement as she glanced at their giant friend "Well, you've done a good job on them."
"That's what yer little sister said." Hagrid noted, nodding at Ron "Met her jus' yesterday." He revealed, only for his beard to twitch as he glanced sideways at Herwald "Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house." He winked "If yeh ask me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed-"
"Hagrid." Herwald spoke up, his tone calm, composed, and yet all the more unnerving because of it even as he continued to admire the pumpkins "Finish that sentence and I will be forced to do something I will sadly regret."
Hagrid's mouth clapped shut, though that didn't stop the others from sniggering, not even Herwald's warning glares getting them to abate for long as they made their way back up to the castle for lunch. However, just as he was about to split with the Gryffindors and make his way to the Slytherin table, he heard a voice, a low, hissing voice that was nonetheless louder than anything in the great hall, a voice like breathtaking, ice-cold venom.
"Come… come to me…" it hissed, coldly, invitingly "Let me rip you...Let me tear you...Let me KILL you…"
Herwald whipped round, his right hand raised to grab whatever was sneaking up behind him and reduce it to its base elements, only to pull up short as a startled Collin Creevey backed away from him, his camera held up between them. "Um…alright Harry?" the young Lion stammered, a nervous smile on his face, "Sorry if I startled you."
"Colin…" Herwald greeted, blinking dumbly at the boy, as if seeing him for the first time, lowering his arm and regaining his composure "Sorry, long day…did you hear anything just now?"
"Not really." Collin countered, frowning slightly as he tried to think of anything that might have unnerved 'The Great Harry Potter' so "You seemed to be a little lost so I thought I'd ask what was wrong."
"Nothing, never mind." Herwald assured him, making his way towards the Slytherin table, grateful that his sudden lack of composure hadn't drawn any unwanted attention. As he took his seat however, his eyes briefly met the protuberant pair of the damned Ravenclaw First year, who smiled dreamily at him, as always, before turning her attention back to her magazine, which was once again upside down "Scheiße…"
One month lay-ter!
October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students, dishing out doses of Pepperup potion that caused smoke to trail from the user's ears for several hours afterward. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end, causing the lake to rise and the flower beds to be reduced to muddy streams.
The only ones to truly benefit were Hagrid's pumpkins, which swelled to the size of garden sheds, and the Quidditch captains, as Flint seemed to delight in driving his team down to the pitch come rain or hail, Herwald usually sitting up in the Slytherin common room, waiting for Draco, Crabbe and Goyle to come trudging in, drenched to the skin and spattered with mud, much to Draco's horror.
During one such afternoon, Herwald was making his way back to the common room, having just come from a study session in the library with Hermione, Ron and Neville, when came across one of the Hogwarts ghosts, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, otherwise known as Nearly-Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor tower and counterpart to Slytherin's own Bloody Baron. "Guten Tag, Sir Nicholas." He greeted, using the Ghost's official title, as the Baron had instructed all the First years that to do anything LESS was an insult "Miserable weather isn't it?"
"Hm? Oh! Hello, hello." The ghost greeted, starting slightly at being caught off guard and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. "You're Herwald von Einzbern, correct? The Baron speaks most highly of you. How do you do?"
"Well, thank you." Herwald returned, quirking a brow at the ghost's expression "Though if I may be so bold, you seem troubled, Sir Nicholas."
"Ah," the ghost muttered, waving an elegant hand dismissively "a matter of no importance…" he frowned, and despite his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face "It's not as though I really wanted to join… Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfil requirements'…But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"
"I can honestly say I have no idea." Herwald admitted, a little unnerved by the Ghost's passionate display, and his casual talk of beheading.
"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly." Sir Nicholas declared "I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However…" he shook his letter open and read furiously:
"'We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfil our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'"
"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on!" the Gryffindor Ghost fumed as he stuffed the letter away "Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir 'Properly Decapitated' Podmore."
Herwald said nothing, simply stood back and waited for the clearly incensed ghost to regain his composure, which was admittedly not that hard really. According to the Baron, it was VERY hard for ghosts, with notable exceptions, to hold onto any emotion for very long after their deaths. Apparently they were all left behind in the body, something about glands.
"My condolences, Sir Nicholas." He offered, once he was certain the spectral Knight wasn't about to start throwing ectoplasm all over the place "I'm sure the Hunt must be an amazing experience, if there were anything I could do to help I'd be sure to recommend it."
"Not at all young Einzbern." Sir Nicholas began, only to pause briefly "But there is something you could do for me." He began excitedly "I was actually going to ask the Baron to pass my invitation along, but since you're here I may as well ask: would you care to attend my Deathday Party?" he smiled at Herwald's look of intrigue "You see, this Halloween will be my five hundredth Deathday." He drew himself up and looked dignified "And I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honour if you would attend. You may bring some friends of course," he paused uncertainly "but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?"
"I don't see any reason to refuse." Herwald noted after a moment's thought, the ghost's helpless expression seeming to tug on his heartstrings despite his otherwise iron-clad control "I'll see if my friends can come, but I must ask, will there be refreshments? Pardon my saying so, but I don't recall food being high on a ghost's priorities.
"Never fear my dear boy!" Sir Nicholas insisted, beaming brightly as he clapped a hand on Herwald's shoulder, sending an icy chill through the Einzbern "I'll speak with the house elves and have them whip something up for you." He smiled brightly "To think, Harry Potter, at my Deathday party!" he exclaimed, smiling apologetically at Herwald's quirked brow "Do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"
"Of course," said Herwald offered, crossing his fingers inside the sleeves of his robes, as compared to some of things he'd seen, a partially decapitated ghost didn't even register on his 'freak-out' meter. Berserker when he was CALM could inspire a type of gut-wrenching terror that had caused grown men to soil themselves just from LOOKING at him, at the very most the Hogwarts' ghosts inspired casual interest, with the exception of Peeves the poltergeist, whom Herwald had vowed to exorcise in a thoroughly painful manner before he graduated.
Cut-scene!
"A Deathday party?" Draco repeated, the Malfoy heir quirking a brow as he sat across from Herwald, the group having finally managed to get together for a joint study session in the Library.
"I think it sounds interesting!" Hermione insisted keenly, looking up from helping Ron with his Potion's homework, as the redhead was too stubborn to ask Draco for help "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those, it'll be fascinating!"
"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" Ron muttered grumpily, sounding suspicious of the whole idea "Sounds dead depressing to me."
"On that matter I will agree with you, Weasley." Draco scoffed, shaking his head in bemusement as he eyed Herwald "Still, you DO move in bizarre circles Herwald, I suppose attending a Deathday Party wouldn't be too unusual for you."
"Second nature really." Herwald joked, smiling at their looks of confusion "However, a promise is a promise." He reminded his friends "Come if you will, Sir Nicholas did say I could invite friends."
"Count me in." Hermione insisted, huffing slightly at the looks of amazement she was getting from Neville and Ron "Oh honestly, think about it, we might run into some famous ghosts down there, possibly even the Hogwarts founders!"
"I think the Baron would've told us if Salazar Slytherin was haunting the dungeons, Granger." Draco countered, though he DID look intrigued at the idea of meeting famous ghosts. After all, the Hogwarts Ghosts were all former students themselves that had drifted back to their old school after death. Who knew what other wizards and witches from days long gone would be there that night?
So at seven o'clock, while the rest of the castle made their way to the Feast, Herwald, Ron, Draco, Neville and Hermione made their way to the dungeons, Crabbe and Goyle having opted to stay behind, as dealing with the Baron was bad enough, but a room full of unknown ghosts would be unbearable.
The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, though the effect was less cheerful and more ominous, long, thin, jet-black tapers burned with bright blue flames, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took, Herwald glad he'd thought ahead and swiped a few doses of pepper-up potion from the hospital wing, while a sound like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard echoed all around them.
"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered, looking decidedly unnerved as they turned a corner, only to come face to see-through face with Sir Nicholas, standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.
"My dear friends." the Gryffindor ghost greeted mournfully, though his eyes twinkled with delight at the sight of Herwald, sweeping off his plumed hat and bowing them inside. "Welcome, welcome… so pleased you could come…"
It was an incredible sight, the dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.
In short, it was rather like being back in the Einzbern Ancestral Castle during winter, a fact that was equal parts comforting and disconcerting to the adopted Einzbern. "Shall we have a look around?" He suggested, completely at ease thanks to the pepper up potion warming his insides "Get to know the feel of the place?"
"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, the cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Herwald spotted the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, being given a wide berth by the other ghosts, and offered him a polite, respectful nod, which the Baron returned.
"Oh, no," Hermione exclaimed, stopping abruptly and plain slightly despite the potion causing her to flush "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle…She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor."
"She haunts a toilet?" Draco repeated, the Malfoy Heir looking at the bushy haired girl in exasperation, as if half hoping she was joking, only to blink at the embarrassed honesty in her eyes.
"Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place." Hermione sighed "I never went in there if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you..."
"I can imagine…" Herwald muttered weakly, the males shivering collectively at the image of looking down while relieving themselves, only to see someone's HEAD looking up at them from the bowl. The moment was ruined, thankfully, when Ron to let out a triumphant yell as he espied the buffet table on the other end of the dungeon, the redhead charging headlong towards it, the other following in his wake.
Surprisingly, there was quite a nice spread laid out for them, and Herwald suspected the Castle's House Elves had outdone themselves for the simple fact HE was there, yet another reason to be glad for his unwanted fame, though the effect was a little ruined by the smell of the food set aside for the ghosts, which was in various stages of decay, the centrepiece an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words: SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON. DIED, 31st OCTOBER, 1492.
As Herwald looked on, idly munching on a chicken leg, a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon. "Can you taste it if you walk though it?"
"Almost…" the ghost admitted sadly, casting a whimsical look towards Ron, who was stuffing his face without a care in the world, before drifting away.
"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavour," said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis even as Draco slapped Ron upside the head for his lack of tact, the redhead rounding on the Slytherin just as a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in mid-air before them.
"Peeves." Herwald greeted, swearing murderously in German at the sight of the Poltergeist, who unlike the rest of the silvery ghosts was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.
"Nibbles?" the phantom menace asked sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus, which they refused "Heard you talking about poor Myrtle." He noted to Hermione, his eyes dancing while hers widened "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"
"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset." Hermione whispered frantically, looking mortified "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her…" she trailed off as a squat ghost of a girl in school robes glided over, her lanky hair and pearly white spectacles hiding one of the glummest faces Herwald had ever seen "Er…hello Myrtle." Hermione greeted nervously her vopice high and falsely sweet "How are you? It's nice to see you out of the toilet."
"Miss Granger was just talking about you." Peeves whispered slyly in Myrtle's ear, waggling his eyebrows annoyingly at the distraught girl "Just saying…"
"Why hello there, Baron." Herwald greeted, smiling coldly as Peeves' back went ramrod straight, the poltergeist whipping round to see the Bloody Baron floating nearby "Dreadful weather this week, hasn't it?"
"Indeed…" the Baron intoned, his eyes roaming over Peeves suspiciously, the poltergeist nervously playing with his collar while Myrtle made herself scarce, apparently sharing the rest of the gathering's fear of the noble "I trust Peeves hasn't been bothering you, Einzbern?"
"He was just leaving, actually." Herwald lied, emerald eyes glinting as he smiled coldly at the Poltergeist, who shot him a glare promising vengeance while looking nervously at the Baron "Weren't you, Peeves?"
"Just so, Baron…" Peeves simpered, glaring hatefully at the boy as he drifted off, muttering curses under his breath, the Baron nodding politely to the group before floating off to intimidate several other ghosts, leaving the group on their own.
"Bloody hell mate…" Ron muttered, shivering despite the pepper-up potion coursing through his veins from having to endure the Baron's spectral stare for as long as he had "I don't see how you can speak to that bloke like it's nothing…"
Herwald was about to voice a reply when he froze, his emerald eyes widening as, despite all odds, he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. 'It can't be!' he exclaimed, moving forwards, ignoring the voices of his friends and the mild outcries from the ghosts he unwittingly passed through as he moved towards the figure 'She can't be here! Of all places!'
"ARTURIA!" he called out, reaching out desperately to the small, taller than him at least, figure as it was about to pass through the wall, clearly having enough of the party, only to pull up short at his beckoning and turn to face him
There she stood, her emerald eyes faded to a light silver as a ghost, her long blonde hair, now a gleaming off-white, done up in her traditional braid at the back of her head, her armour worn and dented from some great battle, stained with silvery blood, as it must have been during the battle of Camlann, from whence she was carried by Sir Bedivere, just before she made her pledge with the world.
"Where did you hear that name?" the vision demanded, Herwald's eyes widening in alarm, for while the voice that emerged from that familiar face was eerily similar to Saber's, it clearly wasn't the King of Knights "Answer me boy, from where did you hear that name?"
And I'll leave off there...
As some of you may or may not know, Type-Moon has recently announced that Fate: Apocrypha is getting an official series of Novels, and as such Mordred, who up until know was MALE, is now the FEMALE clone/son/offspring of Arturia and Morgan, and has been designated Saber of Red in accordance with the rules of that series.
Please do not confuse her with Red Saber, aka Emperor Nero. She WILL beat you to death for it.
Spy: *readies dead Ringer* Worth it.
Kyugan: In any case, expect a few small alterations as we go along. And who knows, this may play a role down the line.